


Shopping

by travellinghopefully



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, Humour, Love, RPF, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: So .... I now work in a supermarket, late night, on the checkouts...what else am I going to do with my time?Peter goes shopping for essentialsThere really is no point to this fic - oh, and, really, if you don't like this sort of thing - DO NOT READ!!!!This fic does not presume infidelity, it just presumes a different reality.





	1. Late night

The pjs were questionable if he was around the house, they were decidedly indecent for anywhere else. OK, he had boxers on underneath, but the fraying, the holes led to imagining and that led to fingers wandering, because honestly, those holes begged to be explored. They really should have been consigned to the rag bag for spills around the house. He insisted they were perfect, they were just at their comfiest, the fabric finally having washed to the perfect level of butter softness. 

The elastic may long since have perished and the cord that had been threaded through to ensure some semblance of decency was of unknown if not questionable origins. Any suggestion that he didn’t possess an extensive, imaginative and utterly fluent bank of swear words was belied when he attempted the task of re-threading the fucking thing with a safety pin. His boundless patience ebbed to hitherto unknown low levels as the end slipped and the cat pounced, believing this to be a game entirely for his own edification. The cat maintained the illusion that the entire world existed for his benefit – and as time passed, Peter became increasingly convinced that the cat was correct. When he reviewed the last heating bill he considered he had probably been handed the raw end of the deal. He averaged out the hours he spent in the house, and the hours the cat spent and realised he really was heating it for the cats benefit alone.

10 minutes, 20 minutes tops. Hoodie on, hood up, trademark silver curls hidden, hands bunched and buried in the capacious pocket. He could manage to mooch up and down two or three aisles until he found what they needed. No fans surely? Not at this time of night? And he wasn’t as much in the public eye now, he could do this. 

Waiting for the online shop wasn’t really an option. If they had remembered earlier, thought about this earlier, considered that this was even a possibility earlier, well that would have been different. She protested, he said she wasn’t dressed, she countered with an elegantly raised eyebrow. He pointed out she was already in bed – she countered again with the very relevant point that he could and should be too.

His resolve wavered even more when he stepped outside into the pissing rain. How had it gone from the vestiges of summer to a night that held the bitter memories of dreich Glasgow day. He hunched deeper into his clothes – the faster he walked, the faster he would be home – warm, in bed.


	2. At the supermarket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Peter arrives at the supermarket, shops, returns home

….no man should be expect to survive without those – he hastily adjusted his thinking - no one. It was after midnight, he refused to consider the implications of his purchases on his fitness and diet regime, forget “Dad tum”, he didn't unconsciously breath in and stand straighter. He continued browsing, choco Leibniz sandwich something or others (Pick Ups - he did, who thought of the names?), did that mean more or less or equivalent chocolate, he added a variety of other packets to his trolley. He could just buy chocolate, chocolate wasn’t on the list, but still….Ooooo Malteser Teaser spread, like those chocolates in the box that he always had to fight to secure his share of – he looked at the jar, there appeared to be little crunchy pieces suspended in chocolate spread – he should try this, he needed to try this, what was it they said? “For science” – that was it. He was here, he might make it worthwhile. Fractionally before he piled everything in he remembered he was on foot – right, two bags, two large bags – he could do this. Two large bags that he didn’t have with him – there were mountains of blessed bags at home, in the car, under the sink in the cupboard under the stairs – if Harry Potter turned up at his house there was no room for him there. He hadn’t brought them with him as he was only buying a handful of things – now as ever, his sweet tooth had compelled him into buying far more than he’d intended – there were a few last things he had to have…..

The persistent drizzle had intensified into a torrential downpour. Decisions, decisions – wait and see if it lessened, make a dash for it. Fuck it, he was 5 minutes from home, the sooner he left, the sooner he was home and warm and dry and in bed and warmer. Those thoughts should keep him going. Five minutes, no problem. He didn’t run – his knee was fine, but he wasn’t going to risk slipping – he was walking briskly, that would be fine. Three steps out from under the cover of the supermarket awning and he was soaked to the bone – well, he’d made his decision and he was already drenched, so there was no point in turning back. He looked down, the fabric of his pjs was plastered to his legs, to “all” of him….that gave him momentary pause – he tried pulling his hoody down with little success. It was dark, no one would see him, no one would notice. At least the cold and wet minimised “things”.

Keys? His keys? Where were his keys? Hall table – he’d just pulled the door shut. The Yale was enough if he was out for 10 minutes. Lock up properly when he arrived home, all well and good except his keys were on the inside and he was outside. The wind had turned and the rain was angled just right to lash at him, any warmth he’d generated walking leaching away instantaneously.

He put the bags down as he scrabbled for where they kept the spare key hidden – everyone said not to….but they only kept a spare for the one lock outside – everything was double locked and alarmed if they were both out. He reflected what might happen is someone let themselves in when she was home alone – he tried not to let his mind go there as his cold, numb fingers failed to prise the key from its hidey hole. It didn’t help he couldn’t see a thing – he’d taken his contacts out and his glasses were pointless, smeared and splattered and the security light hadn’t turned on either – he added it to his never ending mental to do list of tasks he wouldn’t get round to, but which he also some how couldn’t bring himself to pay someone else to do. He knew he would find her balanced on a ladder fixing it herself and he’d chastise himself and promise that no expense was worth any risk to her – until he found himself saying he would get round to something the next time. The trouble was it either feast or famine. He couldn’t predict what he would be doing one week to the next – what seemed realistic now was utterly ridiculous tomorrow. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without her and the others that somehow kept him dressed and turning up at the right place at the right time. He was lucky if he remembered what country he was in, convention, awards dinner, filming, family – it was all a bit of a blur. Sketch book and pencil and he was pretty much happy anywhere. He was much better with a good nights sleep in a warm bed, a warm bed with her, and meals, meals that weren’t catered, instant, microwaved or too often skipped. When had he become such a lover of creature comforts? Surely it had been yesterday when he was gigging, when he was dropping acid – not forty years ago? When had he become an old man? When did that happen? When did he blink and his life race away from him? It was still pretty amazing – could he have imagined it? He was the Doctor, still! Each morning he awoke and remembered and he smiled, nothing else had been like this. How many people were this lucky? To find themselves living their childhood dreams? 

That was all fine and dandy, but he couldn’t get in the house.

Dinner the other night, neither of them were exactly sober and neither could find their key – they’d used the spare. “Better remember to put it back”. Yeah, that had worked, he hadn’t given it a thought since then, it was probably still in his suit – the suit that he’d taken to the cleaners. It wouldn’t be the first time – they’d phoned before now to return his wallet to him.

FUCK!

What the fuck was that – he tried to suppress a high pitched squeal. The cat, soaked, had just rubbed itself round his ankles – it miaowed at him, reproachfully. “You and me both.” The cat reached up, stretching his paws the length of his thigh and sank his claws in – he knew he should have broken him of the habit when he was kitten. “Look how cute he is, he thinks you’re a scratching post…..awwww.” There was still a picture of them on the fridge, so cute when he was the size of his hand, not so much now he was the size and build of a semi domesticated leopard.

That was it, he wasn’t going round the back and trudging through the garden and risking the plague of slugs, snails, foxes and God knows what…the still uncut grass (he refused to acknowledge that was on the list, what list? There was no list). 

He rang the bell.


	3. Soaked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short - Peter is home from the supermarket and finally gets back in the house

“Why?”

He pointed at his keys on the hall table. The cat raced past him, vocalising his protests. Peter moved to put his arms round her.

“No fucking way! You are soaked, and, you woke me.”

“You mean you didn’t wait up for me? I’m cold and soaked….warm me?” He looked at her plaintively.

“Warm yourself – I’ll put the shopping away….you went out for two things, why do you have two bags?”

“You let me go to the supermarket unsupervised, seriously, what did you expect?”

There may have been the faintest waggling of eyebrows, resulting in a cascade of water droplets. She pressed a hand against her mouth to avoid laughing outright. Their eyes met and she started to giggle and so did he – the high pitched gasp come squeal that only caused them to both laugh more.

“Go on you daft thing, get in the shower with you. I can’t believe you didn’t wear a coat and forgot your keys.”

She glanced down, her eyebrows raised.

“That cold? Did anyone see you?”

“Shut up!”

“Very mature, Capaldi, very mature.”

“It beats you calling me “old man”.”

“When do I do that?”

“Most mornings.”

“Ok, enough with the banter, off and to the shower! I am not nursing you with man ‘flu.”

“I don’t see the flaws in playing Doctor and Companion?!?!

“Tsk! GO!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She opened the door to the shower.

“Get a move on, old man!” – She emphasised the words.

“Don’t let the cold air in!”

“Well, get a move on then!”

He exited the bathroom, naked, save for the towel he was briskly drying his hair with, his arms stretched over his head. She took the time to admire him, whilst he couldn’t chastise her for blatantly staring. Unthinkingly licking her lips, she ran her gaze over him, lingering admiringly. She may tease him and he may be absurdly self conscious, but my, he was damn fine.


	4. You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes it out of the shower, she has plans to keep him warm

“Stop staring! I can hear you!”

He threw the towel in her general direction, making sure not to actually hit her. Throwing never was one of his greatest skills.

She stared very, very pointedly.

“The view is marvellous.”

He blushed, all of him blushed – which was probably her intention – she always enjoyed just how far it spread.

He attempted a grumpy noise, and couldn’t help but start to giggle again.

“Right, into bed with you, or you’ll just get cold again.”

“I’ll just get some clothes.” He moved towards the drawers, he had opened one and already had his hand closed over a fresh pair of boxers. He turned as she made an unquantifiable noise…

“What?”

She had a spoon dipped into a tub of ice cream.

“I was really planning on other ways of keeping you warm.” She swirled her tongue round the spoon and as she did she allowed the sheet that had covered her to fall to her waist.

He tilted his head to one side, carefully regarding her.

“Good point, very well made.”

He dropped the boxers and crawled across the bed till he was straddling her. He dipped his head, aiming to capture the ice cream laden spoon with his mouth. At the last moment she snatched the spoon away, a drop falling onto her exposed skin.

“Who said you could have any.”

He said nothing, lowering his head to drag the flat of his tongue over her breast, and the spilled ice cream.

“Missed a bit.”

“Where?”

She allowed more to fall from her spoon.

“I am not entirely sure this is an efficient way to eat ice cream.”

“That’s your concern? The amount of ice cream you are getting? Which, by the way, was not on the list….”


	5. Squeeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I really need to develop the skill to precis my own work)
> 
> Very little ice cream is eaten. Peter is an idiot

“Scoot back a bit love.”

“What?”

“Move will you – I can hardly pay proper attention to you if you keep sitting on me.”

“You might need to let go…” he glanced down. “Not that I’m not entirely happy if you just keep doing what you’re doing right now.

He hissed as her hand moved just so, as her thumb pressed and circled and swiped. The edge of one fingernail tracing the length of him, his breathing ragged, his eyes closed. A whimper.

She let go. He sat, mouth open, heart racing, waiting for any blood to return to his brain. He hopped from the bed, well, stumbled, one foot caught in the covers, barely catching himself on the bedside table.

“What? What are you doing now?”

“Ice cream, back in the freezer.”

“That’s what you’re thinking? Right now, the ice cream? Am I losing my touch?”

“Never that love.” He leaned forward, the tub in one hand, the other trailing up over her skin, tracing her throat, losing itself in her hair, pulling her forward ‘til their lips met. Neither of them moved. She tapped his hand, the one holding the tub, he glanced down he was pressing it against her. He put it down again and concentrated his full attention on kissing her. Small kisses, brushing along her jaw, under her ear, his tongue caressing until she was leaning into him and he leapt up again, scooped up the tub, turned, smiled, raised one finger, bowed and left the room. 

The sound of an accurately thrown pillow, thudding against the door the only punctuation of the silence.

What on earth was he doing. Two minutes maximum to go down stairs and return the ice cream – ok a few extra minutes for giving into the cat and serving him his third supper. But enough time for her to get out of bed, retrieve the pillow, straighten the bed and be compelled to pull up the covers as he had allowed her to grow cold? Hmph. She turned the light off, turned on her side and decided to give him the cold shoulder. The man was impossible.


	6. Lifting the covers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes back to bed and makes it up to his beloved - smuttier
> 
> (no offence to anyone)

Lifting the covers, sliding in, pressing his body against her.

“You asleep love?”

His voice low and rasping, his brogue thick, pretending obliviousness, but knowing full well what it did to her. Wrapping an arm round her, fitting himself snugly against her, allowing his fingers to brush against the fullness of her breast, softly stroking. She slapped his hand.

“Sleeping!”

He slowly trailed his hand lower, forbearing from tickling her (this once), brushing against the top of her thigh and pulling her closer, pressing himself against her arse. 

“Sleeping!”

“No, you’re not.” 

The purr of his voice, low, making her thrum with want – not that she was about to admit anything. Make him work for it, leaving her, going downstairs, doing God knows what, letting her get cold – the nerve. She wriggled against him, she felt his indrawn breath. He kissed the nape of her neck, the suggestion of stubble doing something to her. His nose slid the length of the curve of her neck, nuzzling, pressing open mouthed kisses over each inch of flesh, savouring her.The tip of his tongue darting down, to her shoulder, nipping, moving back to her ear, tracing the shell and biting hard on the lobe, sucking just behind. Distracted, she didn’t notice the progress of his fingers ‘til she felt them brush against the edge of her underwear, toying with the lace of the fabric and not with her – she pushed against him. 

“Thought you were asleep?”

“Stop teasing!”

“Oh you like it when I tease.”

He bit harder, his fingers moving over the fabric, stroking her through the silk, fleetingly, and then back to her thigh, sliding a hand down to behind her knee. How had she ever let him find out how absurdly sensitive she was there? She shivered with pleasure. Damn him. 

“ Little lost there love? Do you need directions?”

“Pfah!”

“Typical man, never stop and ask.”

“You know I know what I’m doing…are you sure you want me to stop? You know I’m not going to rush.”

“No fear of that, what on earth were you doing downstairs?”

“You really want to know?”

One finger trailing up the back of her thigh and sliding back to her knee.

“You can probably skip the narrative for now. As you were.”

“Aye ma’am.”

He burrowed a little deeper beneath the covers, kissing the path his hand had taken. He traced a heart with the tip of his tongue, the times he had done it when she could see, he knew she would know. He puffed a hot breath over her skin, intensifying everything she felt. He was damned if he would rush. Infuriating woman, as if he was lost, ask for directions indeed. Although, he could stop, he could make her ask, he could make her put what she wanted into words, he could make her wait. If he wanted to…

Sneaking under the lace and brushing against her, maddeningly far from where she needed him. 

“Love?”

“mmm?”

“Let me kiss you properly?”

Moving back up he nuzzled into her neck. She turned and his mouth found her, his tongue tracing her lips, opening to one another, the kisses deeper, more urgent, ‘til they were compelled to breathe. His forehead resting against hers. 

Her hand cupped his face, her thumb running over his cheek and his jaw, kissing, murmuring her love for him. He caught her hand gently with one of his, pressed his mouth against the inside of her wrist, biting the fullness at the base of her thumb, licking her palm until she giggled. 

And they were kissing again, desperately, hungrily, messily. Her name between breaths, his love proclaimed over and over.

As his fingers explored a little more, his thumb brushed against her perfectly. He allowed himself the luxury of rocking very gently against her, just so there was no doubt of his interest and intention.

She claimed he could make her come from just his kisses, just from the sound of his voice, but somehow they were always too distracted to put that to the test. One day, maybe, when there was nothing else in the whole universe to do.

He lifted his fingers to her mouth and she sucked on them deeply, reminding him exactly what she could do, and he lost himself in the sensation, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the perfect scent of her surrounding him.

He pulled his fingers from her mouth, the sound of protest she made, loud in the room, loud against their ragged breaths.

He traced one finger over her lips, followed by the merest brush of his mouth.

“Hush.”

His elegant artists fingers curling perfectly inside her. She fisted her hand in his hair, arching against him, hooking one leg over his hip pulling them closer.

Slow, slow circles, exactly where she wanted, making her lift her hips to him, scrabbling to find somewhere to hold on, one hand locked in the sheets, the other in his hair.

His movements infuriatingly steady, slow, controlled, building and building. And she would kill him, this time, she would definitely kill him.

His thumb continuing to circle, his fingers sliding into her, curled…until she couldn’t think – until she could hear herself babbling, until she heard him.

“Come for me love.”

And that did it, she was his, she would always be his.

Holding her close, cradling her against his chest, letting her ride out every last moment, his touch so gentle, his declarations of loved breathed against her profound.


	7. Humorous  Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was Peter buying in the store?  
> What was he doing downstairs?

“Well, that was lovely, thank you. G’night, love you.”

“Love you too. G’night.”

A kiss to the forehead, settling her in his arms, the covers equitably distributed (for now), arms, legs, entwined. Head pillowed on his chest.

She poked him in the ribs.

“What was that for?”

“That’s it? You’re going to go to sleep?”

“You said, and I quote “that was lovely, thank you, g’night.””

“You forgot the important bit.”

Another dig to the ribs

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You aren’t funny.”

“Yes I am, I have a BAFTA.”

Groan

“Don’t think I can’t feel you poking me.”

“Your hands are holding mine, definitely not poking you.” He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, just to prove his point.

“You know what I mean.”

“You sleep if you want to love, I’m fine.” He kissed the top of his head.

Silence reigned for almost 15 seconds. Another poke to the ribs.

“I bruise easily you know.”

“Shut up! What were you doing downstairs then?”

No reply.

“Don’t even begin to pretend you’re asleep. What were you doing?”

“You told me to shut up!”

“Still not funny. What. Were. You. Doing?!?!?!”

“Feeding the cat, despite all evidence to the contrary and the full dish of crunchies and the conspicuous empty sachet on top of the bin, he convinced me that we had neglected to feed him and that he was consequently starving and he had been out in the wet and cold and how could we expect him to live like this?”

“He said all that?”

“He miaows very eloquently.”

“OK, so 5 mins to replace the ice cream and feed the cat…what on earth were you doing for the rest of the time? IF you say answering fan mail, I’m detaching something with extreme prejudice.”

“Looking for something….”

“If you’ve lost your glasses again..... and why you’d need them…”

“I didn’t say my glasses. I was looking for something I’d bought, trying to work out where you’d put it away.”

“And….?”

“Then I realised it was still in the pocket of my hoodie.”

“What was it then? You really are unbelievably infuriating.”

“Says the woman who was going to sleep.”

“WHAT WAS IT!”

“Shhhhh, you’ll wake the cat!”

“I really worry about your priorities sometimes. What was it and why are you spinning this ridiculous tale out, there are other things we could be doing.”

“Says the woman who was going to sleep.”

“Enough, enough with the banter. You’ve spun this out long enough, Mr Former Tucker. What was it?”

“Well, I might have bought….”

“Half the bloody store!”

“Are you going to let me finish?”

“Well, we’ve established, that depends. Just bloody tell me.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t keep interrupting.”

He pulled his hand away from hers. He reached across to the nightstand where he’d place it before returning to bed.

“Spray cream.”

“You brought spray cream to bed?

“Yes ma’am!”

“You’re doing the laundry.”

“I believe we long since agreed that was a given.”

“So, what did you have in mind? I don’t see any cherries.”

“That thing with the stalk, you know I can’t cope. Let’s go traditional.”


End file.
